


Still Alive (But I'm Barely Breathing)

by zade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Murphamy Week, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Steve Feels, takes place at the dropship so season...one???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:17:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: Being back at the dropship is harder than Murphy thought it would be.  The other delinquents don’t trust him as far as they can throw him, which is fine because as far as he’s concerned they can all float themselves.  They made it clear when they hung Murphy that they do not care about him, and he’s not going to waste time on people who don’t care for him.--murphamy week fill for the prompt breathing!!





	Still Alive (But I'm Barely Breathing)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the discord chat for cheering me on <3
> 
> warnings for canon post-torture, a couple lines about murphy's mom being abusive/neglectful, ptsd, panic attacks
> 
> unbeta'd!
> 
> title from that one song. you know. that one.

Being back at the dropship is harder than Murphy thought it would be. The other delinquents don’t trust him as far as they can throw him, which is fine because as far as he’s concerned they can all float themselves. They made it clear when they hung Murphy that they do not care about him, and he’s not going to waste time on people who don’t care for him.

He did enough of that with his mom.

Even so, Murphy settles into the camp fairly easily. He’s eager to prove himself, hurting and jumping and tired, but motivated. Death is a good motivator, he’s found. Some of the boys who like him least take advantage of his jumpiness, dressing as grounders or just popping out at him, to watch him jump. For the most part, though, he is left alone, if for no other reason than people don’t want to engage with him. Which is fine. It’s fine.

Bellamy is the worst, though. He alternates rapidly between publically hating Murphy and shooting him these long looks full of regret and intensity and it makes Murphy’s head spin. That, or the concussion that Clarke said he definitely has. It’s harder, though, because every time he looks at Bellamy his heartrate picks up just a little bit and he remembers before everything got bad, when he would sit and stare and fantasize about Bellamy pulling him into his tent like he had done with half the girls in camp.

He’s not the same, but Bellamy is the same, and the dropship is the same, and most of their fellow delinquents are the same—minus a few familiar faces—and the dreams of Bellamy that wake him in the night, sweaty and hard are the same. His hands aren’t the same, though, either: broken and bloodied and constantly shaking, and so his response to those dreams has changed, too. He lies in his tent, far away from the other tents, and breathes in and out until his erection goes away, because pawing at it with his broken hands is too painful to be worth it.

Those dreams are still better than the nightmares, though.

Mostly he’s alone and mostly it’s okay. 

He wakes one morning with a sigh of relief. The night before had been filled with mild, unobjectionable dreams, and he had woken with his body only aching a little, instead of the agony it sometimes still fell into. Murphy’s not sure the sorts of things he’ll be asked to do around camp as he’s still not officially back on the chore roster, so he’ll ask Clarke for a task after breakfast, he thinks. Clarke is easier to talk than Bellamy, because Clarke doesn’t make him simultaneously horny and scared, and Clarke doesn’t look at him like she wants him to burn.

He opens the tent flap gingerly, fingers aching from overnight disuse. Murphy hears the susurrus of ropes before he sees it, a crude noose swinging in front of his tent, pendulum-like and he is stumbling backwards into his tent, falling back and still frantically scooting away, hands trembling violently and breath coming in tiny gasps.

He can hear Bellamy yelling, the sort of authoritarian tone that he shares with his sister, but the words are too hard to hear and his head is pounding and he can’t breathe.

Murphy covers his face, trying to offer whatever protection to himself that he can, but he is vibrating with terror and then there is hand on his face, three fingers resting casually on his neck as his face is tilted up and he flinches, away from the hands, from the ropes, away away away.

The hands are back, though, on his knees and back and he tries to pull away because he is back there, back with the grounders, and he won’t make it this time, he’s not that lucky he’s not, and he deserves it, he deserves this and—

“John!”

His head snaps up, eyes locking on Bellamy’s face, which is blurry. He’s crying. Oh. Bellamy is sitting in front of him, hands reaching out to him, palms up, not touching. There are no hands. He takes a deep breath. His chest aches, his ribs sore and stuff and Bellamy is glaring at him.

Murphy tries to scoot back but he’s already at the very back of his tent. Bellamy slowly places his hands back down, letting Murphy track his movements as he bracket’s Murphy’s shaking body but his face says murder. Murphy can’t figure out why now of all times because Murphy has been trying so hard to be good this time, and he can’t reason it out because his head is spinning like watching the earth rotate on from the Ark on fast forward.

“Breathe, John.” The hand on his knee squeezes and releases, and Murphy tries to set his breathing to it. He has trouble, but Bellamy is rubbing slowly circles onto his back and no one has touched Murphy in ages without meaning to hurt him and starts crying again. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you again, promise.”

He slows his breathing down, pretending Bellamy might actually mean that.

Once his breathing is calm, Bellamy slowly removes his hands, and Murphy mourns the loss of that contact acutely. “Thanks,” he says, lamely. He’s exhausted from fear and crying and he can’t handle his crush on top of that.

Bellamy clears his throat, uncomfortable. “No problem. You all right?”

Murphy nods mutely. Bellamy doesn’t say anything either, and Murphy figures he’s supposed to have a reason for his reaction, and scrambles for his words. “The noose—there was a noose and I—”

“I get it,” Bellamy said shortly, cutting Murphy off. “I told them to knock it off. That…that shouldn’t happen again.”

Murphy nods again. He’s waiting for Bellamy to leave or start shouting, for his face to turn murderous again and destroy the fantasy Murphy is building up, where Bellamy cares for him and his wellbeing. Where Bellamy wants to spend time reassuring Murphy. Where Murphy isn’t entirely alone on the entire earth.

“What did I do?” Bellamy asks, louder than he had been speaking, and Murphy winces. “Sorry,” he says, softer, more gently. “Sorry. Before. When I first came in, what happened?”

Murphy wishes he was a stronger kind of guy, and that he could say no to Bellamy, but he can’t. “My neck,” he rasps, voice tight and sore sounding. “It’s—I can’t—I—”

Bellamy nods sharply. His face is stronger, harder than it had been, but Murphy suspects for the first time the anger isn’t directed at him. “Can I help?”

Murphy nods slowly, then faster, frantic. He wants physical contact like he wants air, and he wants Bellamy’s arms around him more than that.

Bellamy keeps his palms up, and Murphy moves towards him cautiously. He lets Murphy drape himself over his lap, hands going to rest lightly on his hair and back. He takes a deep breath, remembers when he was little curled up on his mother’s lap, before it went to shit, before he killed his father. 

Bellamy hums softly, something almost tuneless, and Murphy lets it wash over him. He assumes Bellamy must have done this for Octavia when she was younger, and he hopes Bellamy isn’t lumping him into that category. His breath is coming easier now, chest only tight from embarrassment and happiness being so close to Bellamy. 

Tomorrow, he will deal with this. He will ask Bellamy for help. He will try and get over his crush. He will beg forgiveness on his hands and knees. He will get Bellamy on his side so that someone, anyone, will be on his side. He will let Clarke treat his wounds, and try to laugh when someone pokes him where it hurts.

Right now, though, Murphy lets himself have this.

**Author's Note:**

> im gabe racetrackthehiggins and i take prompts and commissions


End file.
